


Atlas

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Cute, F/F, F/M, Family, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mild Gore, Romance, Sad, Some Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-25 11:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10763415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A series of fanfiction based off of the Atlas albums by Sleeping At Last, varying in length.Will include Fates and Awakening, and tags will be adjusted as new chapters are uploaded. There will be AUs. There may be references to character death and other unpleasant themes.





	1. Overture

Tiki grazed her fingers over the intricate patterns on the pillars. She smiled at its familiarity and originality. The castle had such an immaculate, undeniable beauty, one which reminded her of when she was just a small child. She’d looked upon that time sadly when she’d first awoken, but upon adjustment, found that it is impossible to go back. Pleasant memories were something she was grateful for, but that’s all they were. She could not hang onto the past.  
And perhaps this present, and future, would be as beautiful as the architecture surrounding her. She moved through decadent hallways, stepping her way over to a bedroom. Pallid fists knocked the mahogany, and she heard the silken reply.  
“Come in.”  
Olivia sat on the bed, a baby swaddled in soft blue in her arms. The infant’s cobalt eyes were focused on the manakete who came to sit beside her mother. She giggled excitedly at the fingers that brushed her cheeks, and reached out her tiny hands to grab.  
“She really loves you, Tiki,” The dancer mused, rocking the child, “You can hold her, if you’d like?”  
“Thank you,” She smiled lightly as she took Lucina into her arms, taking over rocking, “She’s beautiful. You can tell she’s her father’s daughter...”  
“With her mother’s beauty,” A masculine voice from the door spoke.

It was Chrom, who sat on the other side of Tiki, and pulled a silly face at his child. He’d come in from a public address, and was relieved to get a chance to sit down. He gave a hefty sigh, feeling exhausted.  
“That was a rough time, but at least they all know now that everything is safe. We can finally have harmony in Ylisse again.”  
“And all thanks to our little girl.” Olivia cooed, smiling at the child, “I’m glad to get time to raise her, and Inigo but...”  
“I do miss them too.”  
Tiki glanced between the pair of them, “At least now they are getting a chance to enjoy the world without a weight on their shoulders. Besides, it would be unusual to accompany themselves as children growing up.”  
“I suppose you’re right,” Chrom frowned a bit, “I just hope they’ll be okay.”  
“They survived the end of the world, Chrom. They can survive on their own.”  
“Tiki’s right,” The pink haired woman responded, “They’ve seen so much, learned so much. Nothing’s tying them down anymore. It’s finally time they were free to explore the world. I know they might never come back home; seeing the faces of themselves might hurt too much. But at least we got the time to know them, and they got to see us in our prime. It’s time to let them create their own universe.” 

He nodded solemnly, finding it hard to let go of his children, despite their infant selves present in the room. He wandered over to Inigo’s crib and scooped his sleeping body into his arms, “We’ll give these two a better future, the one that they deserved.”


	2. Woodwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a sadder fic, focusing on a modern day AU of Jakob and Dwyer. This involves mention of a car accident and hosipitals.

Life had a funny way of making a point.

Only a few hours before, Jakob and Dwyer had an awful row. It started simply as a conversation, until too many subtle digs from the father finally sparked a fire in his son. It wasn’t often Dwyer had the energy or will to snap at anyone, but this was the final straw. Humiliation was frustrating at the best of times (and for the poor adolescent, often came in front of his friends), but when it wasn’t relenting, and getting rather personal, he couldn’t hold back. His father was being more of a bully than a parent, it felt.

And, of course, Jakob was known for saying rather cruel, heartless things, even if it wasn’t with a sadistic intent. So, when he said to his son, “You’d get more done if you were dead”, along with many other jabs regarding his laziness on the same lines, he didn’t expect to almost be confronted by it.

Dwyer had stormed out in a terrible rage. On reflection, perhaps his reaction was extreme; he could have just ignored him, or walked away, instead of falling into the lure. Instead, he got in his car, and drove off. Young, wild, and angry, he didn’t hesitate to speed. It was ironic given his usually lethargic disposition that he drove very fast. In fact, he almost drove himself into his grave.

A deer in the road. With a howl, he swerved, losing control over the car. His mind was racing and his palms were drenched in sweat. Thousands of shattering pieces flew around him as metal met wood. White flew out rapidly at his face, cushioning the blow. An extended horn sound boomed through the trees.

There was a faded beeping as he started to stir, and a prolonged ringing in one of his ears. Bright white. He could barely open his eyes to glance around. There was something quite damp attached to his hand, tightly clamped around it. Painfully whining, he blinked his eyes open and glanced around. The hospital. Disinfectant wafted up his nose from the sterile flooring, but it was partially masked by a more familiar, welcoming scent. Cologne. Grey eyes moved toward the source, and finally he felt a sense of relief to see the form in the chair.

It was Jakob, gripping his hand tightly, staring at him in disbelief. His heart was pounding loudly; his eyes were glassy with tears that he didn’t really care to deny. His son was alive. Words that he wished so deeply to say were caught in his throat; his breath was trapped with them. Dwyer was watching him with a soft face, not sure what to do or say. He’d not pieced this all together yet.

Then the quiet words, “I didn’t think you’d make it…”  
“I don’t really remember what happened.”  
“You crashed your car. You’ve been unresponsive for a week.” Jakob struggled to keep it together, trying to retain his aloof exterior but loosing it faster by the minute. There were tears rolling down his cheeks, and he said words he swore to himself he’d never have to say, “I’m so, so sorry…”  
“It’s fine…” He spoke rather passively, though behind that, he was stunned at the situation, “I shouldn’t have stormed off…”

For a while, the quiet returned as the pair lost for the words to say. Dwyer squeezed his father’s hand tightly, staring at his own whitened knuckles. There were bandages wrapped around his palms, and he noticed eventually that his leg was in a cast. He couldn’t feel much of his body, due to the morphine. He was dozing in and out, a little bit off his head.

“Do you mind if I sleep for a bit dad?” Dwyer asked.  
Jakob mused with a chuckle, “Not as if that’s all you ever do.”  
With a smirk, the boy settled himself down for a brief rest. His father remained close by his side, kissing his hand as he drifted off.

Since his divorce, he’d only really had Dwyer, and no one else. As much as he didn’t always act like the best father, and as much as he would argue and almost bully him, he did care a lot for his son. It was just typical that it took almost losing him for him to realize just how valuable he was. When the police arrive at his doorstep, he remembered every single second his spent with his boy. He remembered taking him to nursery when he was so very small, and being told about him always dozing off. He remembered secondary school meetings because he never finished all his work, frequently napped, and was constantly cheeky to teachers.

At the time, he was enraged about it, but looking back, it was funny. His son had quite the personality, and the cheek he had was charming. He knew that when it came down to it, Dwyer could push past his laziness for something important. The boy had all the potential to do anything he wanted, and he would support him with whatever he chose to do. If he chose to be a bin man, he’d snap him up a uniform and everything he could possibly need for it and more; he was just grateful to have him alive.

Dwyer’s nap turned into a night’s rest, and his father shifted the seat up so he could lean his head down on the bed. It wasn’t comfortable, but he’d been more uncomfortable before. Feeling a great relief, he fluttered his eyes shut and drifted off to sleep.


	3. I'll Keep You Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nice fluff fic with Kjelle x Noire. This involves Noire finding some confidence.

“Come on, I promise you’ll be fine!” Kjelle assured confidently, standing outside the tent with her arms folded. Inside stood a nervous, reluctant Noire, with a stare as intense as a lamb at the slaughter. She was beckoned forwards by her clearly determined companion. “The bear’s gone now, I swear! Vaike took it down as soon as he heard you scream.”  
“I-I don’t know…” She was trembling, digging her nails into the torn skin of her upper arm and wincing as she accidentally bothered her wound, “W-What if there’s another?”  
“Noire…” The knight gave a heavy sigh, before saying in a more patient tone, “Give me your hand.”

With a wary gaze, the archer mustered the strength to inch forward, extending a shaking hand out. She was almost afraid to be touched, and as Kjelle’s hand reached out to make contact she gave a grand flinch. Feeling fingers locking around her own, Noire slowly moved forwards, letting go of her hand in order to cling to her muscular body. They were in the opening of the tent now, and it seemed this was as far as she was going. The moment the other girl went to move, she whimpered sharply, tightening her grip.

“Hey… You’re alright. You’ll be okay.” Pulling her close, she gently stroked up and down her back, “I’ll protect you, I promise.”  
It was no wonder Noire was afraid, as her encounter with the bear left her with some deep cuts down the back of her shoulder, and on her upper left arm. But Kjelle knew she couldn’t just stand by and let her hide forever. They were in the middle of a war, after all, and cowardice would save no one. Taking her hand again, she softly suggested, “Let’s go for a walk. I won’t let anything hurt you.”  
Anxiously, the fragile girl nodded.

They began their way into the crisp, spring evening. The sun was setting over the horizon, and the air was quiet. Midges floated around on the breeze; the odd moth fluttered past them. Birds chirped softly, performing complex dances against the faded pink sky. It seemed that Noire was beginning to calm, walking more independently, but still keeping a decent grip on the other’s hand.

Wandering into the woods, there was such a peaceful atmosphere. The leaves and grass were spongy, and it was almost as if they were walking on clouds. There was that nostalgic, damp smell lingering in the air that always came after the rain. When the branch under Kjelle’s large boot snapped, she jumped out of her skin, reversing the roles for a moment. When she caught reality, she noticed Noire giggling at her.

“It was just a twig, Kjelle,” She taunted, sticking her tongue out a little.  
“I’ll snap you like one if you keep this up,” The retort came fast, and with a cheeky grin, “You’d better run.”

With that, the two of them took off at a great speed down the path, feet slamming on the dirt. There was only so long they could run in the mud before one of them slipped, and that was Noire. She slid quite drastically, skidding through the wet and falling on her front. Kjelle, behind her, then slid in the slippery trail left in the wake of the other’s fall. Lying beside each other, clothes filthy with dirt, they couldn’t help but start to laugh. On the ground, they shifted more towards each other, nuzzling softly.

“Maybe we should get up actually. Don’t wanna get ill.” As Kjelle pushed herself up off the dirt, she extended a hand out.  
Noire took her hand tightly, letting herself be pulled up, “You know, for once… I feel alright being out here.”  
“Oh yeah?”  
“Yeah. But um… I would like to go home now. We should probably change.”  
With a chuckle, the knight squeezed her hand, “Alright sure.”

As they made their way back through the woods, approaching camp, it occurred that going to bed might mean separating. Neither particularly wanted to be alone, or apart, but it was the shyer of the pair who gently whimpered her complaint.  
“Y-You know… I’m not sure I’ll be alright on my own,” She looked up with a frown, “J-Just in case another bear shows up, or something…”  
“You could just ask me to stay?” Kjelle laughed, “You don’t need to make up an excuse.”  
Her face flushed, “O-Okay. S-Stay with me?”  
“If I must,” With that teasing remark, they made their way to back Noire’s tent.


	4. Bad Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This whole fic is a MASSIVE AWAKENING SPOILER for Chapter 8 onwards. This also contains character death and mild gore. 
> 
> This is quite a sad, dark fic focused on canon events.

War wasn’t easy on anyone. As much as she’d not like to admit it, it was especially hard on Lissa. Things were chaotic to say the least, and the toll it took on her family was enough to subdue her spirits alone. Healers saw horrific things, even if they were princesses. They saw the suffering of friends, of family, of the innocent. They did all they could, but not everyone made it. Death was a daily ordeal.

Compared to what she was now faced with, the things she’d seen in the past were as bad as a puppy sneezing. The travel to Plegia’s castle was hot and intense, and the journey was filled with apprehension. Emmeryn would be coming home with them, no doubt. Chrom had no intention to hold back; Lissa couldn’t help but think that’s not how her sister would want things to be handled. A hand rested on her back, and rubbed gently – it was Frederick, looking at her with a tender smile, “Things will be fine, Milady.” 

Things were far from simple when they got there, but that was the expectation they arrived with. There would be a battle, it would be bloody. Lives would be lost but it was a necessary sacrifice. War didn’t allow for people to think about its consequences, keeping its victims cornered through fear and brutality. It was the aftermath though that was burned deep into her brain.

Oh God, that sound. That dull and empty thud as flesh met stone, and the rasp of breath being knocked out of the lungs. Lissa screamed, fell to her knees, clutched tightly onto herself while hoping desperately that this was all just a dream. She could see her face, eyes open and glassy, staring forward. Blood spilled from the crack in her head, and began to form a pool around her. Her fingers gave involuntary twitches, her final fragments of energy lost into the sun. Emmeryn was glowing. Death for peace; death with a degree of dignity. A sacrifice for her people, and to get her family out of the situation of choosing between her, and the lives of thousands. A selfless, revolutionary suicide.

Lissa’s ears were ringing loud; her gaze was focused on Emmeryn, and only Emmeryn. The voices around her were muffled as shock started to set in. Chrom was in the way now, stood by his sister. He became a rabid animal, snarling and threatening a laughing Gangrel with tension and tears on his face. Basilio grabbed and yanked him, telling him they had to go. Bystanders – other soldiers, enemy soldiers – watched in horror and distress. This was not right; this was not how a war was meant to be. A disguised figure watched and began to weep, terrified of the consequences.

The escape route was miserable and hectic. It was like no one knew what to do with themselves now, without an Exalt. Chrom was struggling to cope, persisting solely through rage and a lust for vengeance. Lissa felt empty, as though all her feelings had been drained out, and her heart decimated. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see her big sister lying there, empty expression, covered in blood and dust. Though the army suffered as one, it all felt so lonely.

Bad blood must be washed away. They readied soon after to take down Gangrel once and for all. No one was truly prepared; no one could believe what was happening. It was so much to take in. Then, Frederick came with word of mouth, with Flavia’s words that the Plegian army respected Emmeryn as a martyr – for the most part, they were refusing to fight. Somewhere, this resonated in the former Exalt’s siblings – her sacrifice was not in vain. Somehow, this gave them that needed boost of moral.

What a horrific battle it became, perhaps the most brutal any of them had been involved in before. This was not Emmeryn’s way, but there was little else to be done. Influenced by adrenaline and anger, the Shepherds ploughed through their opposition, relentless and brave. Blood splattered and bounced on the sand. Swords clashed and shimmered in the bright sunlight. Lances thrust and axes decapitated. Teeth tore into prey and ripped them to shreds.

Then, they were there. Chrom, alongside Lissa, face to face with the Mad King himself. With no hesitation, the princess healed her brother, and readied a tome. The prince brandished Falchion and spared no time for the ostentatious jesting of the King. Lissa parried attacks to allow Chrom an upper hand, and neither blanched slightly as the legendary sword sunk deep into flesh and fibres. Neither winced at Gangrel’s strangled cries of agony; Chrom placed more weight behind his weapon. This would be no swift execution. The way the sword remained though his belly kept him paralysed.

Finally, with a squelch and a splatter, the new Exalt briskly reclaimed the sword from the skin, and bestowed it upon Gangrel’s exposed neck, whipping across and severing the jugular vein. In a taunting echo of the Mad King’s final words, Chrom snarled, “You deserved to die alone.”  
The siblings looked toward each other, and to the battlefield, to see soldiers surrender, soldiers flee. Their own military moved toward them, as Chrom gloriously roared, “The war is over! The king is dead!”  
Cheers erupted from the forming crowd, made of Shepherds, and the now free Plegians. Finally, peace was here.

For some, however, business remained unfinished. A few weeks after peace assumed its rightful place, Chrom and Lissa made a trip back to Plegia. They had to put to bed the hardest thing they would ever face. The place was easy to find; blood stained the sandstone a deep brown. They had no idea what had happened to Emmeryn’s body, but hoped with all their hearts the Plegians who’s hearts she touched gave her the burial she deserved.

However, it was not only that stain that gave away where the former Exalt passed over. There were flowers, bunches and bouquets of all kinds. Messages on scraps of paper were left as tributes. ‘Thank you’s, apologies, letters of condolences all found their rightful place there. Lissa felt tears well up in her eyes and spill over her pallid cheeks. Chrom wrapped an arm around her shoulder, sniffling himself.

Though she might be gone, it was clear Emmeryn would live on forever in everybody’s hearts.


End file.
